The White Lord of Wellesbourne (43 page)

She shook her head. “I am sure he
would much rather go with you.”

“Protecting you is more
important.”

She stared at him, sensing a
multitude of thoughts he seemed unable to say. His mind was already engaging
Henry even if his body was here, with her.  She put her hands on his cheeks.

“Will you be honest with me?”

“I always am.”

“How bad will this be?”

He kissed her palm. “I do not
know. But with the size of force that Henry is bringing, it promises to be a
big fight.”

She stroked his cheeks with her
thumbs, running her fingers along his smooth lips and memorizing every curve of
his face. She was suddenly aware of the lump in her throat and she battled
furiously against it. 

“Do not forget your promise to
send me word whenever you can,” she reminded him softly. “I will be here,
watching the horizon every day for your return.”

He stroked her face, her hair,
feeling pangs that he had never before known. She could see it in his eyes.

“I will be fine,” she assured
him, grasping at the last threads of courage before they left her completely.
“Caroline and John and I will get along quite well. Do not worry over
anything.”

“I do not worry over anything
here at Wellesbourne,” his voice was oddly hoarse. When he looked at her,
Alixandrea swore she saw tears glistening in the blue depths. “But we must have
a serious discussion.”

“About what?”

“I must say this so that we are
clear on things,” he was trying to be firm with her without sounding grave. “If
something should happen to me, you will.…”

She suddenly threw her hands over
her ears and pulled away from him. “Nay,” she cried softly. “Do not say such
things. I cannot hear it your lips. Only by God’s grace do I stand here with
even an ounce of courage at your departure. If you say things like that, I will
surely crumble.”

He grasped her, more firmly so
that she could not get away. His muscular arms went around her, holding her
still and tight. Alixandrea clung to him.

“You must hear me, Alix,” he
murmured. “If I fall in battle and I have not told you all that I must, I fear
for your life and safety more than you can know. Please hear me out.”

She only nodded, but it was
enough. He continued. “If I should not return, John has instructions to marry
you immediately.  This will keep you at Wellesbourne and ensure that your uncle
does not gain control of you or my inheritance. It also ensures that you will
be well treated and well cared for the rest of your life. John will make a fine
husband. Those are my wishes, love, and I would ask that you abide by them.”

It was too much. Her resolve to
remain courageous unraveled completely and she was a soft, warm, sobbing mess
against him.  Matthew rocked her gently, his face in the top of her head.  He
sighed heavily, wishing with all of his heart that he did not have to leave
her. But time was short, and he had to say everything that was on his mind
whether or not she wanted to hear it.

“I love you, Alixandrea
Terrington St. Ave Wellesbourne,” he murmured, feeling his eyes sting with
tears. “The man that existed before the day you walked into that tavern was
dark, humorless and dull.  You are the spark that gave him a meaningful
existence and for that, he shall be eternally grateful. To have known a scant
month with you has made his entire life worth living.”

His sweet words only made her
weep harder. He put his hands on her face, lifting her tear-stained cheeks to
his lips.  He kissed her softly, gently, across the nose, forehead, cheeks,
chin, and each eye.  Her salty tears were delicious upon his lips.

“Alix,” he murmured. “Open your
eyes and look at me, love.”

She obeyed, the great bronze eyes
slowly opening.  He wanted one last, strong, enduring look into her soul to
sustain him.

“If I have any control over my
own fate and any leverage with God, I swear to you that I will return,” he
whispered. “But if it is decided that my time has come, know that I wait for
you to join me on the other side.  Look for me when you enter the great golden
gates of Heaven, for surely, I will be standing there.”

Her weeping had faded, the pull
of emotion now too strong for tears.  She stared at him a long moment before
speaking. “That gives me more comfort than perhaps anything you have said.”

“Good. I meant that it should.”

There was nothing left to say.
Their final embrace was too strong, too powerful, too full of unspoken words. 
When Matthew finally let her go and moved to quit the keep, she ran after him
and they embraced once more, heated kisses and murmurs of love between them. 
He forced himself to let her go and descended the steps into the ward below.

Alixandrea stood in the doorway,
watching him mingle with Mark and Luke, eventually barking orders as the entire
bailey began to move with fighting men preparing for battle. It brought her
tremendous comfort to watch him in action, confident with his skills as a
warrior and knowing that he would indeed do everything possible to return home
to her whole.

She stood there as the army
formed ranks and began to move out.  Matthew occasionally turned and waved to
her. Alixandrea had no idea how long she had been standing there before she
realized someone was beside her.

John stood next to her, his blue
eyes fixed on the departing troops.  She put her hand in the crook of his
elbow.

“I am glad you are staying here
with me, John,” she said, meaning to be of comfort.  “Perhaps we can even begin
rehabilitating your mother’s garden while we wait for them to return.”

But he did not find much
consolation in the statement.  “Perhaps,” his gaze lingered on Matthew, just
leaving the gate with the massive army behind him. “Did my brother tell you
what he has asked of me?”

“He did.”

“If it comes to that, I just want
you to know that I am sorry,” he said to be of comfort.

Alixandrea did not find any
consolation whatsoever in his statement.  When her husband disappeared through
the gates, somewhere inside of her, it was as if a candle blew out. She felt
dark, lonely, and anxious.

There was nothing left to do now
but wait.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

August 21, 1485 A.D.

Nottingham Castle was a massive
place, more of a fortified city than a castle proper. It was normally full of
people going about their daily business, but with the assembled armies of King
Richard, the entire castle and surrounding berg was jammed with bodies. Norfolk
and Surrey had joined the king’s forces, as well as a host of other lesser
knights and houses. It was quite a conglomeration of forces and at council,
most of the ranking nobles demanded to be heard. This could make the meetings
long and loud.

Matthew had spent most of his
time with the king during this time and one thing was becoming increasingly
apparent; Richard did indeed plan to take command of his army and ride to
battle with them. Matthew had no idea how this would complicate things or shift
the focus of the battle and he fervently wished that Gaston would soon join
them, as much for his counsel as for his sheer presence. But the Dark Knight
was still noticeably absent, much to the displeasure of the king.  Matthew had
sent several riders to find him bearing messages and as yet, none had returned.
He could only assume they had found Gaston and that the man was on his way.

They had received word the
previous day that Henry Tudor’s enormous army was moving to Atherstone, having
crossed the Welsh Marches without resistance.  This had Richard’s entire army
on the move to Leicester to intercept him. War was imminent and Matthew had
been in battle mode since leaving Wellesbourne ten days earlier. He ate little,
slept even less, and focused only on the coming conflict.   He could smell it
in the air, especially on the evening of August twenty-first. 

It was warm and sultry, but more
than that, it was tense with battle preparation.  Richard’s entire force of
around five thousand men was camped on Ambion Hill, south of Leicester and
directly in the path of Henry Tudor.  When dawn broke on the morning of August
twenty-second, the battle had finally come.

The morning at Bosworth Field was
clear but for some lingering fog created by the heavy evening moisture. The
White Lord took his troops with Norfolk to create the front lines.  Matthew set
up three rows of archers just ahead of the cavalry, nearly one thousand strong.
It would have been far better for him had Gaston been here with his contingent
of Welsh archers, but he could not wish for what was not available. Norfolk had
mostly cavalry and infantry, lingering just behind Matthew’s troops. In the
distance, they could see an army approaching, standards flying high.

“Do you see who it is?” he asked
Mark, astride his fat red charger.

Mark’s visor was lowered. “Nay,”
he turned to Luke. “Can you see the colors?”

Luke squinted in the early
morning sun. “It looks like green and white pennants.”

Matthew heard him. “Oxford,” he
hissed. “He is leading the charge. Archers ready!”

His voice boomed across the
field. The soldiers with the red pennants that, once waved, would set off a
deadly volley of arrows, stood at the ready.  As Luke charged off to supervise
the archers, Mark remained at Matthew’s side, studying the incoming tide of
men.

“Any further orders before I
assume my position?” he asked.

Matthew shook his head. “When the
foot combat begins, return to my side. We must stay united if we are to
survive.”

Mark nodded, but still he
lingered. Matthew was focused on the approaching Oxford pennants when Mark
spoke quietly.

“This is more than likely not the
appropriate time, Matt, but I feel I must speak.”

Matthew glanced over at him.
“What of?”

Mark cleared his throat, his gaze
suddenly uncertain. “Your wife,” it was difficult for him to bring forth the
words. “I… I have not been very kind to her. I have said terrible things. I
want you to know, before this battle begins and our lives may be cut short,
that I am sorry. I am sorry for the cruelty I have thought of her.”

He had his brother’s full
attention now. “It is unnecessary to apologize,” Matthew said, watching emotion
flicker across Mark’s face. “I know you, brother. I know that you did not mean
what you said.”

Mark lifted a dark eyebrow. “That
is where you are wrong. I meant everything I said, at least at the time.” He
was uncomfortable with his confession and slammed his visor down. “I was
jealous, I suppose. Jealous she had you, jealous you married a woman that you
could love. But that is all over now. I just wanted you to know that should
anything happen, you do not have to worry over your wife. I shall take care of
her if it comes to that.”

Matthew gaze was intense. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the change of heart?”

Mark would not look at him; he
was focused on the approaching army.

“You have always been an
excellent warrior, Matt,” the helmed head turned in his direction. “But she has
made you an excellent man. I have seen changes in you but do not ask me to
describe them, for I cannot. But know that I have seen you change for the
better. You are blessed, and as my brother, I am pleased.  God knows you deserve
some happiness in this world. I am glad that you have found it.”

Matthew could only smile. “Your
wife adores you, too, Mark. Perhaps you should give yourself the chance for
happiness such as I have found.”

“Perhaps.”

Matthew held out a gloved hand. 
Mark caught it and they held each other tightly, drawing strength from their
brotherly bond. But the moment was cut short as they realized the archers were
still waiting for the signal to let fly. Matthew was preparing to bellow the
order when a messenger suddenly approached him from the rear. He recognized the
man as having been sent for Gaston several days prior. Matthew passed his
command over to Mark and went immediately to the messenger.

“Where’s de Russe?” Matthew asked
before the man could speak.

“He is to the north with the
Stanley armies, my lord,” the man was clearly exhausted. “They are lingering
just out of battle range.”

Matthew’s eyebrows drew together.
“What is he doing there? The battle is beginning.”

“He says to tell you that he must
speak with you, my lord,” the man replied. “I am to take you to him.”

Frustrated, Matthew was forced to
leave his post.  Mounting his newly purchased Belgian charger, he tore off
after the already-mounted messenger.

Gaston was more than a mile to
the north, on a ridge overlooking the distant field of battle. He was there
with the Stanley brothers and their army of over five thousand men. It was
nearly as big as the contingent on the field in the distance. Matthew found
Gaston dismounted, helmless, standing next to his charger and quite calmly
watching the far-away battle commence.  The thunder of cavalry and the shouts
of men could already be heard.